Possession
by KarmaK
Summary: The solar system is chipping away and this time sheer power can't save it. Earth's last hope, as well as the fate of the entire universe, relies on a jewel hidden deep in the past of a planet long since forgotten by almost everyone.
1. A Seed is Planted

_Obviously I don't own DBZ..._

**Notes**: This is part one of a large series I'm working on. To be honest, I have no real direction, more like a general idea; I'm basically letting the story write itself. Within a lot of these chapters, you're going to find roughly translated various languages. Either Google translate for yourself or scroll to the bottom of each chapter when you're finished for a read out. Much like Toriyama, I don't consider myself a romance writer as of late. I used to frequent this site as a Vegebul writer years ago. But I lost interest in DBZ for a while and switched to writing under a pen name for a Showtime series I'm currently obsessed with. Buuuuttt after going to the theater like an uber nerd after years of fangirl dormancy, here I am, back at it. But this time I'm trying a stab at some minor Trunks romance in this one. At least in part one. But if you're a Vegebul fan, you'll get your fix too. Mostly I'm writing this for the adventure. Enjoy!

P.s. I hated GT so that doesn't exist in this future.

P.P.S. If the title offends you, Guest who left a mean review, turn right around and shove that ridiculous attitude right up your bum. I'm not even referring to whatever 'Lord' you follow. It's for fiction purposes. Get over yourself, child.

P.P.S.S Jeez I changed the title so everyone would stop being butt hurt. Happy now? I can't believe some people were offended by a title.

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><p>Possession<p>

1

_A Seed is Planted_

A pounding resonated beneath his feet. It started small, tickling the soles, but grew until the room around him shook with immense force. His windows blew both out and inward, the glass cutting his arms and face as he attempted to shield himself. The Namekian named Sipho screamed in fear and confusion along with the harmony of calls all around him. Their entire planet, fresh and new, barely twenty three years old, felt as it had on that fateful day long ago, when a tyrant force has pillaged all which the surviving Namekians had fought to save or rebuild. On old Namek. Only this shaking was without warning or lava, without a golden haired savior.

Sipho gripped the ground and crawled his way out of his family's modest home. Gritting his teeth, he flinched away the books and bottles which pinged off his head and body. Finally, he managed to throw open his front door and see outside.

His village was a young one. Birthed by a Namekian named Tafari. They were each, all twelve of them, Tafari's offspring, save for Sipho and his two sons.

Most had made their way outside and were gathering around the small oasis, cleaving to the Ajisa plants. Sipho dug into the dirt and joined them, crawled up a tree, his face pressed into a plant. His sons, nowhere in sight, were likely still visiting Moori. Sipho wept in hope that the boys were all right.

The winds picked up, taking belongings and pieces of Namek, creating giant tornadoes that could be seen spreading rapidly across the horizon.

Then suddenly the wind stopped. Everything stopped. The sky rained dirt upon their heads.

Sipho let go of the plant and stood firm, looking at the wreckage. Fortunately it was minimal. He assumed a weeks worth of repair.

"Nini ilikuwa kwamba?" one of the children asked, his eyes bulging and lips trembling.

And worst to happen yet, a weight came upon them. Terrible and crushing, knocking everyone to their chest and backs. The air pressure was too much. Those that could will hands to their throat, gasped silently and blood pooled in their eyes and mouth, dripped from their ears. But eventually that stopped too. And there was only blackness. Empty space and twinkling stars.

Screaming, Dende shot up in bed and held his chest. Pouring sweat, he looked around and saw his bedchamber. Nothing had changed. Aside from having knocked over his glass of water on the nightstand. Glaring at his feet, Dende gripped the sheets and shut his eyes hard. Not to wipe away the image; his antenna swayed and his energy levitated the pillows behind him, he felt around vast space in search of Moori. Unbeknownst to Dende, who was far too focused, Mr. Popo had barged in, panicked.

The genie creeped over to Dende, a worried expression marring his face. He touched the bedpost and waited patiently.

Breathing hard, Dende opened his eyes and met Mr. Popo's. He still gripped his blanket. Though now instead of focus, Dende's face made Mr. Popo gasp. The Namekian's eyes swelled with tears.

"Dende?" Mr. Popo uttered, meek and concerned. "Aren't you feeling well?"

"Popo," Dende gritted out, "something awful is happening. I can't find New Namek."

Leaning on the bed with wide eyes, Mr. Popo stuttered, asking if the planet had been destroyed.

Dende shook his head, grinding his teeth and staring into space. "No," he bit out, "it's just gone."

Far below the clouds, resting on a small patch of land in the suburbs of West City, stood a split level town home. Painted tan and olive, with two patios; one upstairs and the other nearest the lower level garage. On the roof was a swing set and modest pool area. Surrounding the home was a cul de sac of resembling houses, sidewalks, and the neighborhood farmer's market. Beyond that stretched small time mom and pop shops, an elementary school, and highways leading out into the bigger city. A homey place. A peaceful residence.

Shouting erupted from the town home and shook the rooftop. Suburban moms in their mini vans came to a dead, shocked stop and joggers fell over while a group of basketball players turned to stare at the Son residence.

"Videl, listen to me!" Chichi growled, yanking her daughter-in-law's cup away from her. In turn, splashing the juice on Videl's dress. "I've been through pregnancy twice now, and I can tell you this, if that baby is anything like his father, you're going to have to do more than drink juice and eat an egg for breakfast!"

Sighing, seated by himself at his kitchen booth, Gohan let his forehead his marble. They had been at this for weeks now. His mother was incorrigible, refusing to let Videl treat her own pregnancy.

"I'm eating six square meals a day!" Videl harped back, trying to fight for her glass. The juice sloshed about into the stream of sunlight leaking in through the kitchen windows. "My doctor says I'm perfectly healthy!" she yelled, slapping the glass finally and shattering it against the counter top.

Chichi gasped, blinking at the mess. And then, in usual fashion, clenched her fists and shut her eyes, boiling inside. Gohan cracked an eye and swore to himself that his mother's face turned five shades of red and purple.

"You know what, mom," Gohan breathed, sitting up slightly to prop his chin in hand, "this is our second time. I think Videl knows what to expect this round."

Looking triumphant because of her husband's backup, Videl crossed her arms over her bulging abdomen. She upturned her nose at her taken aback mother-in-law. Flipped her chopped blueish, black hair.

"Gohan!" Chichi roared, turning her rage onto her now cowering son. "How dare the two of you gang up on a poor defenseless grandmother! I'm only trying to help! You just wait until your father hears about this!"

The front door stood open behind them, illuminating a short and bulky figure. It took a moment for the child's presence to register with her bickering family. She stood hip-high to even her mother; extremely small for her age because she had been born prematurely. Her hair was flat and onyx, pulled back in a long pony-tail. Her eyes the same shape and shade as her father's, but with her mother's softer nose and mouth. Her jawline resembled her grandmother's, as did her often brash and unapologetic attitude. She took off the backpack, which was twice her size, and straightened out her white and blue school uniform. Her eyes never leaving Chichi.

"Grandpa's home?" she asked, walking calmly to her father's side after shutting the door.

And with that came silence.

Gohan stared down at his five year old daughter. He held his breath. Damn his mother and her big mouth. Since his father's departure at the last World Martial Arts tournament, all Chichi had done was live in denial. And every time she went to talking about Goku, Pan would get upset. She missed him perhaps worse than anyone. Gohan, he was used to his father's leaving. He knew his father would be back after training Uub. He'd be back and for while at least, he'd stick around. Whatever the reason for Goku's recent adventure, Gohan knew it was important. He understood. Pan on the other hand was a child and understood very little. And Chichi needed to stop talking as if Goku was coming home any minute. It would probably be more like years.

Videl halted Gohan's inner dialogue when she bent down and held Pan's shoulders, soft smile on her face and touched Pan's cheek. "Not yet," she said warmly, "but maybe later we can visit Dende, and you can talk to Goku."

And just like every time, that was enough to quell Pan before she started in crying for her beloved grandfather.

Gohan glared at his mother, pushing at his glasses. She stared back at him, apologetic for once.

Miles away, tucked into a canyon beneath a waterfall, Piccolo meditated. But it was not peaceful. Nor had it been for the past twenty four hours. Kami was restless within him. Finally giving up on inner battle, Piccolo gave over his mental reins. He hoped this would allow him a quick rest, if nothing else. He found himself traveling through time and space. Lost among the stars. Delving deeper and deeper. Life forms zipped by, galaxies whirled around him. It was dizzying. Finally his search came to an end amid emptiness.

_What's your problem, you old kook?_

After receiving no response, Piccolo quieted once more and gazed around the vacuum of space to which his consciousness had traveled. He allowed his energy to focus in his cerebrum. If Kami wouldn't fess up, Piccolo would find out for himself. At first he did not recognize the galaxy. Because it looked different. Stars and planets were missing. In fact, a great portion of the galaxy no longer existed. The once great spiral was now more of a straight line. Within him, two voices whispered, breaking his focus only a little. He struggled to make sense of the words and worries. Nail and Kami. Both of them were upset. 'Gone.' That was the only word he understood at first. 'Home,' that was the second.

_Gone?_

A sinking feeling attacked his stomach and Piccolo opened his eyes with a jolt. The galaxy he'd visited had been that of his home planet's. Quickly he shut his eyes again and searched once more. Coming to rest on the place which New Namek usually orbited, Piccolo looked for rubble. Signs of destruction. But there were none. It had simply vanished. Along with most of the surrounding galaxy.

"But what does this mean?" Piccolo asked himself aloud, once again opening his eyes and staring at the water around him.

Back in West City, after a delicious diner, Gohan found himself surrounded by the three most important women in his life. Literally. Each of them held onto either his elbow or back as he placed two fingers against his forehead and transmitted all of them to Dende's tower. Their arrival, usually met by either Dende or Popo, went unnoticed. The platform was eerily still and silent.

Videl let go of Gohan's back and took Pan's hand. She began walking towards the fish pond nearest Dende's front door. Pan jumped beside her, full of excitement, unaware of her father's sudden concern.

"This sure is strange," Gohan hummed as his mother gazed around. "Both of them are in the Time Chamber," he said quietly, more to himself. "With Piccolo," he trailed and turned his back, eyes staring up and lost in the clouds as he zoned in on their auras.

"Well where is everyone," Chichi asked, scowling with her hands on her hips. Quickly she yanked Gohan's shirt collar and pulled his face to her level. "Are they even home?" she asked him, expectant. And when he didn't respond within seconds, she harped, "Gohan, say something!"

"Mom!" Gohan urged, pulling from her grasp, "calm down." He ruffled his shirt and joined his wife and daughter, Chichi close behind. The three knocked on the front door and waited patiently. With his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, Gohan tried to appear calm, but his heart beat rapidly and he felt a sense of unease. He could tell that Piccolo was angry. And he could sense Dende's sorrow. But he didn't want to alert his family or worry them. After all, it could be something simple.

Common sense told him otherwise.

Pan knocked again, then looked up at her mother with a confused frown just as the door creaked open. Mr. Popo stood before them, grim. Shaken.

Forgetting his former stance, Gohan barged past Popo and toward the Time Chamber, leaving behind his worried family. As he reached the heavy wooden door, they opened, halting Gohan's run. He blinked between the two Namekians before him. Their moods had not changed since he'd felt them out. Piccolo's face reflected his inner fury and Dende was pale.

"Gohan," Dende greeted him, "I'm glad you're here. It saves me the trouble of telling you this telepathically."

"What's going on?" Gohan asked Dende but looked to Piccolo.

"There's been a disturbance in our universe," Dende said, wasting no time, barely containing his panic. "I don't quite understand it myself," he added, glancing at Piccolo who nodded for him to continue, "but I need you to get everyone's attention. Bring everyone here! Right away! I only want to explain this once. Hurry, Gohan!"

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><p><strong>Translations<strong>: "_Nini ilikuwa kwamba_?" is roughly "What was that?"


	2. Speculation

2

_Speculation_

With his arms settled snug around his rib cage, Vegeta closed his eyes and waited alongside his wife. The couple were by the fish pond away from most of the others; Bulma folded up demurely by the water, her hands resting on her knees and Vegeta leaning against a pillar. In front of them, Trunks stood with Kakarot's youngest son. Kakarot's eldest son had brought most of the "gang" to meet with Earth's guardian. This hadn't included spouses, save for Bulma who had quite literally fired a laser at Gohan's skull when he told her to stay in her lab. For her to let the men handle the situation. Gohan's forehead was still bruised. Vegeta chuckled and Bulma glanced curiously at him before he set to refocusing his attention once Dende got to the point of this excursion.

"I remember that Beerus guy saying something about other universes," Krillin said, scratching his skull. "Maybe, I don't know, maybe there's been some kind of clash or something. A mix up."

Beerus. Vegeta ground his teeth. To this day he had yet to experience the transformation Kakarot had been granted privilege to a decade past. Times of peace and all. It was boring and sedentary. Therefore part of Vegeta stirred in wanted anticipation at the mere hope of what most gathered abroad the tower feared. Battle. Another chance to test his limits. He wasn't getting any younger after all. Excitement buzzed within him. But as he opened his eyes again to look down at his wife, his chest quivered. Selfish needs on his behalf did not warrant what may come. The worried look on Bulma's face brought back memories of Earth's last great battle and the loss they'd all nearly faced. Vegeta sighed, staring now at his hand and the band which hugged his finger.

"If only I could talk with King Yemma. He'd know better than anyone," Dende sighed. He gnawed his lips nervously. "But the truth is, he's gone too."

Trunks growled and gained Vegeta's attention. Fists balled up and glared hard at Dende, Trunks bared his teeth. "Are you trying to tell us the entire Other Word is _missing_?" he snapped, scowling. "Along with half of our universe?" His anger spiked a rise in energy and zapped at the atmosphere tauntingly. In that moment, he reminded Vegeta of his younger self. Hi son had been doing that a lot, lately. He turned less like his mother every day.

"Yes," Dende said. "It's unbelievable, I know. And it happened so fast. While we were all sleeping," he trailed, flushed.

Chatter overtook the crowd. Speculation. Useless drivel. Nothing of substance. Vegeta shoved off of the pillar and glided over to the small green man. He towered over Dende. They stared at one another in silence, unnoticed in all the panic. Mentally they conversed.

It had taken quite a lot of effort to calm the others and convince everyone to take a leave. Without any real knowledge of the situation, both Dende and Piccolo agreed with Vegeta that it was best for everyone to go home and get it together. The only remaining few were the Namekians, Vegeta, Gohan, Goten, and Trunks. Earth's best at problem solving. Most everyone, including the aforementioned six shared the same worry.

What if Earth up and disappeared next? How were they to stop it? What was even the cause?

"Well I think step one," Gohan chimed in, "is contacting my dad so that we're all together. He needs to know about this." The young man sounded so self assured.

Dende swallowed hard. Vegeta cocked a brow. He hummed and spoke before Dende had a chance. "Apparently," Vegeta began, "you all haven't caught on to the little green man's secret." Gasping and frowning at Vegeta, his fist raised, Dende stuttered a defense that Vegeta talked over, ignored completely. "Well go on and spill the beans, _guardian_," he egged. Vegeta knew already. He could tell earlier when he and Dende had spoken privately. The Namekian had made no mention of Kakarot. And usually, Kakarot was the go to answer for everything. Which could only mean one thing. "Kakarot's gone too, is he not?" Vegeta said, a deep scowl shadowing his face.

Dende's head fell. "Yes," he said. "I um," he looked up at Gohan and paused, frowning, regretful, "I spoke with him a few months ago," he confessed. "He and Uub were with," he stopped and flinched at both Gohan and Goten's dismay and looks of betrayal, "Whis. On a planet in Galaxy BX 445. Which is gone now."

"That guy," Trunks chirped from his perch on the edge of Dende's platform. He'd been a quiet form in the background until now. Shadowed by Goten. "What's he doing?"

"Training Goku," Dende replied. "Well, was. He and Uub-"

"I got that part," Trunks snapped.

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand your question," Dende said, now stern faced and clearly agitated with Trunk's disrespectful attitude.

"Well wasn't that guy able to see other universes," Trunks said. "I mean, he and Beerus were the ones who even told us about that. So seems like you could reach out to him regardless. Because it seems to me," Trunks stood and walked over to his father's side, arms crossed, brow furrowed, "like he and Beerus were able to pop in and out of whatever universe they saw fit. So if he's around-"

"You can talk to him! Yeah!" Goten yelped, relieved.

Dende blinked. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, smiling brightly at the blink of hope.

"So," Trunks growled, "do it already!"

"Don't order me around!" Dende quipped, pointing his finger at the lavender haired half blood.

Hours passed. The contact was fruitless. Whis was unreachable. The outlook of Earth's universe was grim so far as Vegeta could tell. His son's whispers of scientific babble for the past hour had edged their way into Vegeta's thoughts. "This is crazy and pointless," he said as Dende tried for a fifth time to reach someone. Anyone. The prince and others stood alone at the edge of the platform. Out of earshot.

They'd been whispering speculation amongst themselves. Trunks's opinion being the most sound.

"For once," Piccolo said clenching and unclenching his fists, "I agree with you, Vegeta."

Goten sighed and looked at his older brother. "So what do we do?" he asked.

"Nothing," Trunks cut in and Gohan nodded, face etched in sorrow. "There's nothing we can do. Apparently the universe is imploding on itself." At his friend's look of confusion, Trunks explained. "Every galaxy you see, every little star, every lake, every species on every planet in every realm, is all a part of a great explosion of atoms. Ever heard of the Big Bang? Well I guess this is reversal mode." He stopped, growling to himself and adding under his breath, "The Big Suck," sarcastically.

"But how would that include Other World?" Goten asked, his heart racing.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Trunks snipped. "We're all just one stream of consciousness. And it's chipping away bit by bit. Other World isn't excluded."


	3. Hope Springs Paternal

3

_Hope Springs Paternal _

Waiting to die. This was insanity. Her entire life, all she had ever known, would be gone eventually. Just like that. Without warning. No Other World. No nothing. The thought chilled Bulma to her core. She'd been sitting by the gravity room for hours now, listening to Vegeta pounding away his own turmoil. This force wasn't one that could be beaten away and even he had realized the cold fact. She hugged her knees and dug her bare toes into the grass. To her left, her daughter, Bulla, barely four years old, played with Capsule Corp's newest bubble blower. Completely content. Completely clueless. Bulma felt a sting in her eyes and a pain in her throat. She sniffed and allowed herself to cry against her knees, still watching her daughter through a crack near her elbow. Poor Bulla. She'd never grow up. She'd never experience the thrill of adventure or love.

Weeping still, Bulma shut her eyes and drifted back into buried memories of her younger years. She stopped to mull over small things she should have done differently. She collected herself and stood. So lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice the gravity room shut off as the door lowered open.

Vegeta stepped out, towel around his neck, skin stinking of three day old sweat. His eyes went immediately to the child coming up behind him, trail of soap bubbles floating by her.

"Daddy!" Bulla called, her frail arms all ready up, begging. She was much more affectionate than Trunks had ever been at this young age. Probably due to Vegeta's treatment of Trunks. One of the many life choices he had been thinking over during his three day stay inside the gravity room. It was something he wished he'd handled better.

The constant training starting as soon as the boy had crawled. Vegeta had also been far more stern with his son. Less involved. That's what he truly regretted. With the girl, he'd by then grown soft. Not to mention Bulma's rage at the mere mention of training her only daughter to fight. It had been easier to pat the girl's head and allow her to braid his hair in ridiculous manners.

"Where's your mother?" Vegeta asked, picking up his child. He'd felt Bulma outside the gravity room, only to have her drift away. She'd cut him off from their link. He might try to feel out her pitiful excuse for an aura, but Vegeta saw more fit to just ask the child than waste his time.

"In the greenhouse," Bulla said, both hands against Vegeta's dirty face. "You smell!"

Growling softly, he rolled his eyes and sat her down, still holding her small hand. Her skin was satin against his calloused fingers. Together they walked across the complex.

It was unlike his wife to leave Bulla unattended.

Vegeta didn't bother knocking. The smell of flowers and tomatoes was enough to plug up his sinuses for the remaining day, yet he walked through, toward his wife's figure by the Tulips. He lifted Bulla into a chair beside of her mother. It was then he noticed Bulma's red-rimmed eyes and stained cheeks. She'd hidden herself away to cry. Hadn't wanted to worry the girl.

"Mama?" Bulla asked, reaching up, her young face scared. She resembled her mother so much.

Vegeta patted her arms down. "Go inside," he told her. "Your mother isn't feeling well." He was shocked at how well she listened. Typically she was stubborn and loud mouthed. Also like her mother. And, though he would never admit aloud, Bulla's streak of pigheadedness was much like himself.

Once the door to the greenhouse slid shut, Vegeta leaned against the wooden crate holding a variety of Tulip. He crossed his arms and his eyes lingered on Bulma's mournful face. "Hey," he said, face as hard as the day he stepped foot on this planet. But his voice held no harshness.

"Vegeta," Bulma breathed, wiping at her face and staring still into the flower bed, "we can't prevent this, can we? It's all over."

He was silent. He couldn't tell her yes. But certainly he couldn't tell her no. He'd had a thought inside the gravity room; granted it hadn't been built on more than legend long forgotten. Which was why he chose not to tell his wife anything. Bulma didn't deserve to have her hopes brought up only to be possibly, and more than likely, crushed later. Therefore, he chose to keep the thought to himself. He'd tell only his son and the small Namekian. Knowing this, Vegeta had no idea what to say. He sighed and relaxed his face. Reached out and placed his ungloved hand on Bulma's shaking shoulder. This stilled her. "Don't waste time on tears," he said and lifted her face as far as she would allow without resistance. Which wasn't much. She hated showing tears. But he saw no use in her secrecy. "We could have years or days. Seconds," he said, "yet you would waste it?"

"Well," she sniffed hard and pulled away from him, crossing her arms, "you're in there beating up droids because you're upset. Aren't I allowed to be upset too?"

"If you so choose," Vegeta shrugged. "But perhaps we're both being wasteful and should stop."

She looked at him, shocked then calm. He knew she agreed with him. He also knew it was a rare occurrence for him to admit fault to even her. Hence her shock. He wiped her cheek and placed his lips against her forehead. Before he could stop her, though he'd have chosen not to, Bulma wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his collar bones. She held him tightly. They stayed like that until Vegeta felt his wife relax and kiss his filthy chest.

When the two emerged from the greenhouse, Bulma found their daughter and assured the girl everything was fine. Bulla had of course ran immediately to her brother, concerned. Trunks's idea of settling his sister down had been to sit her in front of the girl's favorite cartoon and feed her sugar treats. Vegeta looked upon his family and smiled warmly to himself. Despite their weaknesses and flaws, he cared deeply for each of them. Felt pride for his son and the boy's accomplishments. Pride for his wife's beauty and intelligence. And pride for his daughter's untapped potential, be it in a lab or battle field. He wanted nothing more than to see this life continue. And felt it odd now, thinking back, that he'd ever wished his love for them to stop.

"Son," Vegeta said, his voice seeming startling to even himself.

Trunks looked over at his father. The boy was dressed in his ridiculous shorts and hoodie, a headphone hanging from one ear as he sat in Bulma's recliner. He had been hacking lazily around the house since, as he so brashly put it, the world was ending soon anyway. Though it was nice to see he had cut his hair in a more suitable manner for the festivities. Short and spiky against his head, save his thin bangs. Vegeta could tell that Bulma wasn't pleased with the look.

"Come into the gravity room," Vegeta instructed, already turning and headed that way.

"What?" Bulma piped, covering Bulla's ears as she cussed him, her voice fading as Vegeta moved about the house, headed for the back door. "Vegeta! You said we'd relax! You big fat liar," she bitched, "you promised me!" Her anger only grew as Trunks followed suite.

When they'd gone into the gravity room, Vegeta cut off all connection to Bulma's laboratory. Trunks watched his father unhooking everything, head cocked to the side.

"What's up?" Trunks asked as Vegeta stopped his assault on the wiring.

"What I'm about to say," Vegeta said, "could be false. But it has to be checked into regardless."

Surprised at this, Trunks listened intently.

"I could never forgive myself if there had been anything at all worth trying and I'd overlooked it," Vegeta said quietly as he stared into his hand.

Trunks sighed. "Father," he started, "everything eventually dies. You can't stop natural causes. We've lost this fight against nature."

"No we haven't!" Vegeta snapped at his son. "How dare you quit so easily! You're my son! Heir to a warrior race of valiant men who _never_ gave up! When have your mother and I taught you to do less than everything you can, boy?"

"You said yourself that this is crazy and pointless!" Trunks countered. Before he could blink, his father had appeared in his bubble and slapped him swiftly and hard across his cheek. Trunks staggered back to composure, glaring vehemently at Vegeta.

"Legend on my planet," Vegeta continued, turning away from his son as if the squabble hadn't occurred, "told of a jewel much like Earth's Dragon Balls. Only there were no limits to the stone's ability. Sadly, Planet Vegeta lost ownership years before my father's reign. Back when Saiyans wore fur instead of armor. Before we knew what we possessed, it was taken."

Struggling to calm down, Trunks sat and crossed his legs, eyebrow twitching, just itching to hit his father back. But he listened. And slowly he felt his chest flutter with hope.


	4. A Plan Hatches

4

_A Plan Hatches_

"A time machine?" Goten slurped at his pasta, sauce on his chin. It smelled of strong pesto and bison.

The apartment he rented was small, just a studio in West City. He'd been there only a few weeks before Dende's bad news. Having abandoned his mother, as she had so eloquently put it while crying into his packed suitcase. The only furniture was a futon mattress and small coffee table that was currently serving as his and Trunks's diner table. The walls were an ugly and bright yellow, splotchy. Though the wall directly behind Goten was painted halfway up with a muted grey. Brushes and paint buckets sat aside during diner. The floor was covered in tarp and drips of grey. The two men seated center stage were also coated on swipes of paint. Goten's orange gi was basically ruined, but Trunks had thought ahead and was wearing pre-ruined shorts and no shirt.

"My other self left behind some blueprints," Trunks said, making Goten smirk at how odd the sentence would seem to anyone outside of the Briefs boy's family and friends. "My mom's been hoarding them for years," Trunks said as he chewed a meat ball. "She can't figure out the formula," he added and took a swig of beer.

Goten slurped a noodle slowly, scratching his head. "But wasn't she the one who built it in that time realm?" he asked, puzzled.

Trunks blushed. "Idiot!" he hissed, slamming down his can and scowling at his best friend. "They're not exactly the same woman, you know! Necessity helped that other woman build a time machine. My mom hasn't ever had the motivation. She just piddles with it. If she ever really needed to, she'd figure it out for sure."

Humming, Goten licked his plate clean and stood to take the dishes to his dirty kitchen. The only space actually being used regularly but remaining neglected. His mother had berated him for being a slob during her recent visit. "So why not just ask her. Tell her what Vegeta told you," Goten said, clattering the dishes into the already tumbling pile. He caught several bowls just before they hit the floor, a drop of startled sweat leaking down his face and mixing with paint.

"My dad says to leave her out of it this time," Trunks crossed his arms and turned to watch Goten grab two more beers from his refrigerator, his back resting against the coffee table. "He's pretty convincing that he'll kick my ass if I disobey him," he breathed, taking the can as Goten walked back over. "And not that I can't take him down," Trunks boasted, popping the cap, "but I don't want to fight him at a time like this." His eyes, full of mischief stared at Goten from beneath his lashes.

Goten narrowed his eyes and grinned, chuckling. "Yeah, sure," he sniggered. "I've seen you and your dad fight before, Trunks. You lost big time."

"Only because I let him win. His ego needs fed sometimes. Plus he's old and-"

At that, Goten let loose his full laughter.

"Shut up!" Trunks roared, face blood red. He crushed his can and threw it at Goten's face.

Swatting it away, the other young man burst into more laughter. He only gained a moment of sanity when Trunks fired a shot at him. Thankfully Goten managed to grab and absorb it before the green ball of energy destroyed the entire apartment complex. Goten held his mouth to stop the laughter. Finally calming, he put down his beer and glanced over at the numerous empty cans beside them. "Maybe we've had enough," he said. "You get pissy when you're drunk anyway," he tried not to laugh again.

Trunk gritted his teeth and crossed his arms stubbornly, upturning his nose.

Snorting, Goten chose to do what he always did when Trunks let his pride get in the way of progress. Be it on the battlefield, in class, or in everyday conversation. Goten could swear he'd seen his friend lose more than one great relationship simply because Trunks was too egotistical to come down off his high horse over even the smallest matter. Goten ignored the other man and finished the conversation alone. "So she can't build it and you're going to try," Goten said, "that's what you were saying. And go back and get this Moon Stone? If it even exists. Except that doing so-"

"Doing that," Trunks butted in, refusing to be overlooked as Goten had expected, "will cause a third rift in time. Who knows what changes will happen in that realm because of just going to that planet."

"Who cares," Goten said. "It's not like it will affect our time. And maybe that thing is real. Maybe Vegeta's right. Maybe we can wish this planet into a universe that's still whole. Maybe we can at least save Earth."

Trunks nodded. "Yeah and what if I get stuck?"

"You?" Goten huffed. "Who says you're the only one who gets to go to Planet Vegeta? Why do you get to be the hero?"

"I say!" Trunks argued, pointing to his chest. "I'm building the damn thing! I get first ordnance! Besides," he paused and held Goten's gaze intently, "space and time can only be stretched so far. I'm worried another rift could be dangerous."

"Like how?"

"Like, maybe that's why this is even happening in the first place. You think we're the only ones out there who might have traveled through time? Cell did. My other self did. Who knows what other Aliens have done so as well! I could wipe us out entirely by doing this!" Trunks explained, his hand gripping his hair. "My dad isn't thinking about the whole picture like I am," he said, "he's just reaching for any whiff of hope he can muster. But it's dangerous, damn it!" He finished, stern.

"Well so is just waiting around!" Goten bellowed, standing up, riled.

Eyes bulging at his friends spike in energy and emotion, Trunks fell back, catching himself just before his head smacked the tile. He stared up at Goten, mouth agape. The youngest Son boy took quite some time to lower his aura and settle back down. When he did, his face was that of determination. Trunks continued looking up at him, reminded very much of Goku as he looked into Goten's face. He held his breath before speaking. Finally Trunks sighed, admitting Goten was right.


	5. Take Off!

5

_Take Off!_

"As you can see from these satellite images, our solar system is yet again another planet shy of complete. Scientists in Bahai City have shocking evidence that a black hole could very well be the cause of these occurrences-"

Bluma lifted her hand and snapped off the television. Black hole indeed. Sometimes she was embarrassed by the Earth's ignorance. Holding the sofa pillow tighter to her waist, Bulma Briefs inhaled the scent of her husband, who had only moments ago excused himself. Since breakfast, the two had sat cozily on the couch, watching a documentary on Polar Bears while Bulla dozed in her pretty pink princess bed. Vegeta hadn't been the least bit interested in the movie. Truthfully, Bulma found it hard to be interested on much of anything these days, either.

It had been a month since Dende's grand reveal. To his word, Vegeta had spent all most every moment with Bulma, Bulla, and Trunks. She hadn't seen him enter the gravity room once. Which was why she knew life was over. He'd given up. And if Vegeta had lost hope, then Bulma knew nothing would change the Earth's fate.

She closed her eyes against the pillow and sighed. It was bittersweet finally having Vegeta all to herself. Having him around the house and not off training ninety percent of the time. Though she suspected he slipped away at night and she had woken up alone often, only to be greeted during breakfast and have the day continue as usual. Vegeta suddenly the picture perfect husband and father. Frankly, it was suspicious.

"Hey, Vegeta!" Bulma called, lifting her face from the pillow and staring down the hallway. "You fall in?" The couch shifted beneath her. She stared at the coffee table, her glass of water vibrating. Humming curiously, she held tightly to the couch and watched the house begin to rumble. It dawned on her then what was happening. They were being sucked away! Screaming, she called out again for her husband, only this time, terrified. "No!" she screamed. "I'm too young! This can't be happening! It's too soon!" She called, diving beneath the furniture for cover.

The loudest bang Bulma believed she'd ever heard resonated through the entire Capsule Corp complex just before the house stilled. Silence filled the tense air as Bulma crawled from beneath the sofa. She looked around, her hair a mess and a dust bunny tucked near her ear. "Vegeta?" she chirped, trembling, still holding tightly to the pillow.

It was then that the kitchen door slammed open and she heard footsteps accompanied by Vegeta's booming voice. "Blast that boy!" he harped, yelling at the rooftop with his fists raised, glowing yellow. "Do you hear me? Trunks, you deliberately disobeyed me! You will pay dearly for this! I am your father, God damn it!"

At a loss, Bulma slinked from the floor to the kitchen, pillow still in hand. She stared at Vegeta's tense back. He was covered in oil and had cuts on his arms and face. His clothes were ripped. He'd been fighting!

"What's going on?" Bulma demanded. "If the planet isn't vanishing," she pleaded, frowning in anger, "then what the _hell_ was all that noise and shaking? And where have you been for the last twenty minutes? Answer me, Vegeta!"

Stunned back to reality, Vegeta gripped the counter top and looked over his shoulder at his wife. Her hands were on her hips, one holding a decorative pillow. She stood firm and demanding. His heart raced at what he was about to confess. She'd be furious with him for withholding information. For somewhat lying to her during the past four weeks. But Vegeta had known this time would come. Surely he had not thought his genius wife would remain oblivious.

"Woman, you may want to sit down," he told her, steeling his nerves and features. Truly, his wife was his most formidable opponent to date.

Elsewhere, the ship which Trunks and Vegeta had been working on in secret landed smoothly in the middle of a desert. Inside it, Trunks sat, battered and bruised from his tangle with his father only seconds ago. He breathed heavily and looked out at his surroundings. Vegeta's last power attack had scuffed up the glass, but Trunks could see enough to know he was no longer on Earth. Whether or not he had actually traveled through time rather than merely space was still in question. Trepidatious, he pushed the switch to release the hatch. Possibly it hadn't worked. His calculations could have been off. For all Trunks knew, he was on a distant planet where the air was poison. A risk he took as the glass lifted then sunk into the rim around his machine.

Eyes wide, he took a deep breath and laughed nervously as he looked out at the sand and tall, slender, grey trees. He was alive and able to breathe, wherever he'd ended up.


	6. Tuffle

6

_Tuffle_

The sand on which he stood was hot. Felt more like coal, only it didn't burn through his boots. The temperature here was extremely humid. And his body felt much heavier than what was normal for earth. Fortunately he was far past that stage in his life where anything under six hundred times Earth's normal gravity affected him in even the slightest. Nevertheless it was notable. As was the stench. The air smelled like factory exhaust. And Trunks spotted why, way in the distance. Tons of pollution spilled upward, mushroom throughout the horizon. Somewhere, someone was very industrious and yet very ignorant at the same time. He smirked and turned to gaze in all other directions. He floated up to get a better look.

The layout was similar to parts of Earth. Rockier, though, and less green by a mile. In fact, the little bits of what he assumed where grass and trees just East of him, beyond jagged mountain formations, were more black than green. Not pitch black, just very dark. Burned grass, maybe. Or at least that was the appearance. And the place had a red glow to it. Faint.

Looking to the sky, Trunk spotted two suns and noted the clouds where tinted orange. Which meant the water here must have a strange chemical component. And the sun hitting off those clouds was the cause of this tint. He turned his hand over to see even his skin appeared pinker.

He wondered if the entire planet was this ugly.

"Well," Trunks said aloud to himself, "I guess I'd better figure out where I am. Hopefully I did my homework right." And with that, he landed for a moment to recapsule his time machine and place it in his pants pocket. Standing once more, facing the jagged mountains, Trunks thought about all his father had been telling him over the past few weeks. More than Vegeta ever spoke of his home Planet. Sure, growing up, Trunks had heard his fair share of Planet Vegeta this and Prince that, Warrior race and yadayada. But Vegeta hadn't ever really sat down and talked casually about much anything else regarding the place or the people. Until recently. And once that faucet had been uncapped, the water kept on flowing. Nightly, while Trunks worked on the time machine, hidden off at Dende's tower, Vegeta had watched his son. At first in silence, occasionally handing over a wrench or some part. Then Trunks had asked his father what the planet Vegeta had really been before Frieza's control over it . And for weeks after that question, Vegeta opened up slowly. Naturally the time line Trunks had entered would be much more cavemanish than the more up to date information Vegeta had given, save the legends and history of which his father knew. Trunks wondered what he was truly in store for.

At first, flying over the rocks, Trunks spotted only strange animals clinging to crevices; he didn't see his first Saiyan until he'd been floating around curiously for quite some time. The girl he saw was maybe nine. Her tail was around her waist, confirming for Trunks that he was definitely on the right planet. She was pummeling away on a stump which was charred. All around her was burned up grass, pieces of land chipped away like meteors had landed. She wore fur and her hair was a mess of onyx spikes, chopped unevenly and frayed. Trunks looked at her grayish skin and thought she was at least three weeks due for a bath and already scarred up worse than a pregnant woman's stomach. He floated above her, watching to see if she planned to stop her assault on the stump soon. Maybe she could lead him to an adult.

To be honest, he had no idea where to even start looking for the so called Moon Stone. Vegeta had said the stone remained in a Saiyan's possession far before the Tuffle and Saiyan war. Which was to when Trunks had traveled. Now he just had to figure out which Saiyan had it and where. He doubted the girl would even know what he spoke of.

A thought occurred to him then that the Saiyans of this era may not even speak a language he knew. His father had planned on making this trip himself, so he hadn't taught Trunks the planet's native tongue.

"Shit," Trunks sighed to himself. Maybe he shouldn't have fought his father for the time machine. What had he thrown himself into?

The girl finally took a breather. She fell back onto her ass and sighed hard, wiping her forehead. Humming, she fell flat, hair splayed out and arms folded behind her head, staring up at the sky. Her eyes widened as she spotted Trunks and his in turn winced. He hadn't wanted to be seen yet. Not until he knew what to expect. Not that he couldn't handle himself; clearly he was lightyears ahead of these Saiyans. It was the confrontation he'd hoped to avoid by perhaps remaining low key. After all, he knew that the Saiyans of this era didn't possess a means to detect power levels. Remaining hidden should have been easy. He'd been careless.

"Tuffle!" The girl shouted, springing up quickly and glaring at Trunks. But she looked confused.

Probably because the Tuffles had apparently been ground ridden weaklings who relied only on technology and intelligence, much like the human race. So while Trunks assumed he looked more like a Tuffle than Saiyan, his flight confused her.

"Comment allez-vous là-haut?" she barked at him, baring her sharp teeth. Her tail jetted out, swishing. She stood firm, ready to pounce.

Trunks had no idea how to speak with this child. He couldn't decipher what she'd said in the slightest. So he held his hands up as a show of peace. Which, in hindsight, was a stupid action. Saiyans were rarely a peaceful bunch, and the girl would probably see this as a sign of weakness.

She indeed did. She grinned then, wide and wicked. Pushed her hands out in front of her, clasped them and aimed for Trunks's chest with a bolt of red energy.

It felt like snuffing out a candle when Trunks popped the shot away briskly, frowning down at her. He was at loss. He needed her to find others, but she was clearly looking to fight him. And Trunks was not going to fight this nine year old girl. He chuckled at the mere thought. It was ludacris.

"Vous êtes différent," the girl growled up at him. "Ce que vous êtes? Eh? N'êtes-vous pas un Tuffle?"

Groaning, Trunks let himself fall into a graceful landing. He put his hands on his hips, startling the girl as he stood directly before her. She jumped back but he followed. She fired at him again and he easily dodged it with a playful smirk.

"Arrêtez!" the girl cried out, furious and also scarred.

Trunks pointed to himself then, sighing. How could he communicate with anyone here? This was thus far a disaster. "Trunks," he said of himself. "I'm Trunks."

She flinched away, smacking his elbow, then hunkering down like a cat, eyes narrow. "Quoi?" she said, tart.

He sighed heavily and scratched his head. He wondered if it were true here as it was on Earth. Often times, languages shared a few words with the same meaning. He doubted it could be true if the language was from an Alien planet. But Maybe. "Where's your mama?" Trunks asked the girl, hoping that she would understand. Mama was a pretty relative word. He thought anyway.

At that, the child stuttered. "Maman?" she finally asked, her face softer and wary. "Quoi? Maman? Vous la connaissez?"

Growing more and more frustrated, Trunks shook his head and placed his fingers against his forehead. Transmitted himself back to where he'd landed.

"How about starting over," Trunks said to himself, now far away from the probably in shock girl. He decided maybe it would be best to start with the Tuffles after all. Because if the Tuffles were as technology savvy as his father claimed, then perhaps they had already created something to decipher languages. One could only hope.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations<strong>:

"Comment allez-vous là-haut?" IS "How are you up there?"

"Vous êtes différent." IS "You're different."

"Ce que vous êtes? Eh? N'êtes-vous pas un Tuffle?" IS "What are you? Eh? Are you not a Tuffle?"

"Arrêtez!" IS "Stop!"

"Quoi?" IS "What?"

"Maman?" IS "Mom?"

"Quoi? Maman? Vous la connaissez?" IS "What? Mom? You know her?"


End file.
